


savoir vivre

by Abscisio



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abscisio/pseuds/Abscisio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calem tries to play the gentleman to Serena's spoiled, sheltered princess and teaches her what exactly "etiquette" is. All she really learns is that even so-called refined men ogle girls in short skirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	savoir vivre

**Author's Note:**

> This was me trying to get back into the swing of things. Can't write smut... the inner prude in me refuses so now this is kinda just an awkward mush of randomness oTL. Revised again as of July 11th.

She sat with her shoulders squared and her twiddling hands underneath the table, like any proper lady. But of course Calem found some fault with this and rolled his eyes.

“Neighbor,” he said, his palms face down on the table, empty white plate in between, “You really need to learn some etiquette.”

Neighbor. You’d think he’d call her by her full name by now. What was he even prattling on about? She never really could focus on what he was saying, because every time he came near, her heartbeat sped up, her vision blurred, and she became dizzy with giddiness. She scoffed and flipped her long, honey blond hair over her shoulder. “I’m not the one who’s lacking in manners. It’s all of Kalos.”

“All right, princess, but tell me that again when you get dirty looks for socially unacceptable table manners.”

“Since when were you suddenly the well-versed gentleman?”

“Me? I’ve always been the chivalrous Kalosian knight.”

“Tch.” She stirred the ice in her drink, taking a long, slow sip. Strings of tiny lights glittered on the walls around the cafe. A sprightly guitar ballad weaved through the hush of voices. She glanced at their surroundings, watching the way the other clients maneuvered their forks. “But I'm curious. What  _is_ this 'proper etiquette' you speak of?”

She was startled by how set his own gaze had been in her direction. His gray eyes, wide and contemplative one moment, shrank to a scowl the next. He looked away, and she wondered if it were just her imagination that his cheeks were red.

“Er, do you want me to teach you?” he asked a moment later. It must've been her imagination. He wouldn't stare. She nodded at him. “Well, to start off, put your hands on the table.”

“Why? That’s so inane,” she grumbled, but relented anyway. She placed them behind her plate. “This good?”

“You still look like you’re hiding something. You have to place them where the other person can see them. It's tradition rooted in superstition - there used to be legends of thieves hiding knives under the tables when kind strangers gave them things to eat.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “What am _I_ going to hide?”

"Oh, come on." He stood and grabbed onto her fingers, his touch light and soft. He lifted her hands to settle them beside her plate.

She jolted her hands back, flinging him away and knocking over the glass right onto her new skirt.

She cursed and stood up. A waiter was rushing towards her. But in a second, Calem was by her side with napkins. He grinned at the waiter. “Thanks, waiter, but I got this.”

“We’ll get more napkins,” the waiter responded, and then dashed away.

It was too much. Too much. Calem was dabbing her skirt with the napkins. Looking right at her skirt.

Well, not that it mattered. Shauna had warned her that Calem was as dense as a bone, and it had taken her some time but she was figuring that out for herself. He probably wasn’t paying any heed to the fact that he was touching her skirt. And that he shouldn’t have been. And that it was making her face burn.

“It's just water. I can do it myself,” she snapped, snatching the napkin out of his hands. Her face was so red. So red. She could feel it. Oh no.

"I'm playing the gentleman," he told her.

The waiter came by and dropped off more napkins, then began wiping up the table. Calem sat next to her in the booth. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body.

"Okay. I'm fine. Thanks," she grumbled. She refused to look in his direction. But she hoped by her slowly leaning away that he got the hint.

Apparently he didn't.

"That's a nice skirt," he said.

"Oh, yeah," she replied, her voice two pitches too high. She was trying her best to concentrate on stirring the remaining liquid inside her cup.

"Too bad you got water all over it."

She snorted. "No thanks to you."

"Why?"

Her eyes widened and she found him suddenly leaning forward into her. He had a smirk on his face, and his gray eyes were glittering. Her chest was a confusion of heat and sparks and fireworks - wanting to punch that smug look away and wanting to just close that space...

"Do I make you nervous?" he whispered, lowering his mouth towards her jawline.

"Th-this is completely improper no matter how you look at it. What kind of gentleman are you? Would a gentleman corner a lady like this?" she sputtered.

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Sorry. I tried, but honestly, I just suck at chivalry."

He grabbed onto her shoulders. And that's when every neuron stopped firing in her brain. Her heart stopped beating when he smashed his lips against hers.

She sat there and made an unromantic squeal at first, because that's what it was. It was unromantic, being cornered in a restaurant booth by this uncouth, battle-obsessed, socially inept fool. It was harsh and filled with teeth knocking, because that's who Calem was - gruff, battle-oriented all the time. But it was still warm and somehow pleasant. It sent tendrils of heat streaking from every place he touched. She was breathless. His lips against hers. She reached around his neck. She'd wanted this for so long. Since the day he'd challenged her on the cobblestones of Aquacorde.

He pulled away.

He watched her carefully with those stoic gray eyes that usually only ever lit up for battles. “Well?”

“Well w-what?” she stuttered. Her gaze darted to the table, where their drinks were left, forgotten. “T-that was just totally improper to the extreme.” She leaned against the wall, trying to process the tingling sensation of her lips. “I don’t care what culture. It’s against any code of etiquette to just-- just--”

“I couldn't help it. Your skirt was driving me crazy."

"Pervert."

"Yeah. Maybe just a little," he admitted. "And I also like you, Serena."

She stiffened. "Whatever,  _neighbor_. You're absolutely infuri--"

She shut up when he kissed her again, softer this time. But just as warm, and just as dizzying. She melted, and he wrapped his arms around her to keep her from collapsing against the wall.

“It's true," he insisted, drawing a breath. "From day one."

“You’re weird, and you have no manners. But... me too.” She gazed at him through the wisps of her eyelashes. “My skirt _is_  still wet, you know. I didn't do a very good job of drying it off.”

He lowered his hands to her waist. “Lucky that you have a gentleman to help you with that.”


End file.
